


say you want me, say you want me

by kaiyak



Series: TianShan Week 2018 [2]
Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Alcohol, Curses, Damsel in Distress, Encounter, Fluff, Freedom, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Night, Romance, Swearing, Wounds, city, friday night, he tian is literally falling, sleep over, tianshanweek, tianshanweek2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 16:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15800313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiyak/pseuds/kaiyak
Summary: he tian would have fallen asleep outside, body covered in blood, numb from the pain.but guan shan happened.+tianshan week day 2+ (wound)





	say you want me, say you want me

**Author's Note:**

> part two here we gooo ^^  
> again, it's past midnight, and i have work tomorrow again (my head and feet hurt and i just wanna sleeeep)  
> i feel like this part was rushed as well, but i don't know. i kinda like the way i worded it lol  
> again (again) this isn't corrected, nor betaed, so sorreh in advance chéris ;;  
> hopefully you'll like this one too ^^ have fun reading and see you tomorrow! :3

The neon signs were too much.

Yes, they were pretty. As always, even, and they were portraying the metropole beautifully, but Guan Shan was too drunk to care, and if he was being honest, their blinding bulbs of light were zapping through his retinas.

Too much, it was.

The pain in his head increased, and he tightened his eyes closed, his eyelids glued on his hot skin. Shivering, he covered his shoulders with his green plaid jacket, the comfortable cotton enveloping his upper body. He sniffed, then coughed and grumbled, booze making his mind swim in a sea full of blues and pinks, purple hues joining in harmony.

He probably should have stayed home. For some, Friday evenings were synonym to parties, freedom, alcohol and illegal paradises, but to Redhead, Friday evenings were useless. Not useless per se, but _meh_. Guan Shan didn’t like them. They were like Mondays, or even Saturdays, just simple days of the week, which meant school work and responsibilities.

Then why did he have to get convinced by none other than Jian Yi? Probably because it was a great excuse for escape, and because he had nothing else better to do.

(And although he didn’t want to admit it, drinking with Jian Yi and Zhang Zhen Xi had been a great experience, and he would definitely repeat it).

So there he was. Alone, but not, in some street in Shanghai, people bumping in his shoulders and stepping on his worn shoes, careless and mindless.

The people’s small talks and the city’s sounds were humming in Guan Shan’s ears, and he welcomed the cacophonic chaos gratefully, fully distracted from his own problems.

Walking around made the alcohol that was swarming peacefully in his system start to evaporate, his eyes seeing clearer, his nose smelling better.

Polluted air filled his lungs, and he exhaled, awfully content with all the wrongs that were surrounding him, mixing with humans and buildings.

Becoming attentive again now that soberness was integrating itself in his brain, step by step, he turned right on another street, cringing at the way the alley seemed lifeless and practically abandoned due to his lack of activities.

Some lamppost flickered, and the redheaded man trembled, just a little, unsure about the safety demonstrated by the dark street.

_Even if it’s the way back home._

_You’ve taken this way many times before, why would it scare you only now?_

Plagued by doubt and fear, Guan Shan hurried and walked a bit faster, soon recognizing his neighbour’s house.

And his own home.

The porch hidden by an immense shadow he _couldn’t_ distinguish.

 _Wasn’t this supposed to be a_ thrilling _night_?

 _Everything had been_ nearly _perfect, so_ why?

“Oh, why,” he muttered, his throat constricted, his heartrate jumping in speed in less than a second.

He approached the stairs, trying to forget that he was scared _shitless_ , and glared down at the figure that was passed out on his porch, wondering _how, dear lords how the heck_ he, Mo Guan Shan, had been victim to such an event.

To such _bad_ luck.

He crouched down, and almost got up back again and fled, the pungent odor of blood tainting the atmosphere.

“What the actual fuck?” he spat, his fingers shaking, his heart pumping powerfully.

“If my company is unpleasant, please dare say so,” the male huffed out, chocking on ruby liquid while trying to stand up, his elbows buckling and trembling so hard, it was impossible for him to move.

Guan Shan gulped, and took notice of how bitter his saliva tasted.

He gently placed a warm palm on the person’s nape, said person becoming immobile.

“No, I’m… I’m sorry. I won’t ask you what happened, but please cooperate. I’m not leaving you here tonight,” he clarified, “that’s certain.”

The other giggled with satire, and Guan Shan felt the confidence in his arteries waver.

“Alright, little one. What’s the plan? I literally can’t move a single fucking finger. Good luck with that,” he snickered, and Guan Shan felt his cheeks light up with embarrassment.

He seemed incredibly taller than him, and Guan Shan hesitated wondering if this was some trap full of nasty shit.

 _Eh, it’s Friday night, what could happen, right_?

“Please don’t laugh,” he ordered, and almost right after, soft laughter echoed around the duo, and he grumbled mutely, the hint of a smile appearing on his features.

He bent a little more, took the stranger’s back and legs swiftly between his arms, and stood up while groaning, his _patient? guest?_ breathing erratically, as if trying to avoid hissing because of the pain shooting up his members.

Opening the unlocked door, Guan Shan slammed it behind his back and traversed his home, knowing his mother was sleeping too hard to notice anything suspicious.

 _Like bringing an almost passed out human being at two in the morning_.

Blood stained his hands, and he gagged, putting the light body on his bed, not caring about the sheets as he rushed to the bathroom, took possession of the first aid kit, and ran back to his bedroom, prepared.  

He flicked the light open, and gasped loudly, not able to refrain himself from putting his hand on his mouth.

As if the smell got even stronger, he moved closer to the body, now noticing the person’s intriguing facial traits and relishing in how horrified the latter looked.

The newcomer growled with dolor and tried to get on his back, a hand patched to right thigh, nails painted in blood.

“Okay, Mister damsel in distress, I’m going to ask you to stop moving in order to provoke as least pain as possible, thank you very much,” Guan Shan muttered swiftly, trying to let the heaviness of the atmosphere fly away.

“He Tian,” the black-haired man specified, “it’s He Tian in distress.”

Guan Shan grinned, and tried not to laugh nervously, examining how He Tian’s eyes seemed full of life despite his appearance, tones of gray stitched to the pupil in an endearing way.

Guan Shan picked up He Tian’s bloody hand in his and was about to put it back on the already dirtied covers, but the wobbly fingers attached themselves to his, and he tried to forget about how his heart had sung with joy at the touch.

Although some alcohol was still running through his organs, Guan Shan understood the complexity of the issue, and analyzed the hole that was carved in the soft flesh, torn jeans trying to camouflage the wound.

To no avail.

“Bullet. Gunshot, whatever you call it. I got shot, I guess,” He Tian whispered, his voice rough and dry, agony and tiredness clinging to it.

“I told you. You didn’t have to,” Guan Shan argued, even though his tone was incredibly weaker than usual, devoid of bite. “I’m not a professional, but—”

“It’s alright, Redhead, don’t fuss over it. Really.”

“Guan Shan. Mo Guan Shan,” he muffled, and He Tian smiled, pressing his fingers against Guan Shan’s in a comforting motion.

Trying his best, Guan Shan then proceeded to take tools, sterilize them, and subtract the small, metallic ball of matter covered in red, thick blood, before cleansing the wound and bandaging it delicately.

“Little Mo,” He Tian called, and Guan Shan unexpectedly appreciated immensely the use of a nickname, “may I ask you a favor?”

“What?”

“May I stay over?”

_It’s Friday night, who fucking cares? He’s cute, and is a nice, warm pillow for hugs._

_No more alcohol, ever again,_ Guan Shan scolded himself interiorly, grumbling aloud under He Tian’s curious gaze.

Guan Shan stared at him, and got lost in his orbs, captive.

Then felt like this wouldn’t be the last time he would sense butterflies in his stomach from the sight of He Tian, laying down restfully, staring at him almost curiously, with sparks of intrigue and charm.

“Yeah. Fine.”

And that’s how He Tian woke up the next morning, hugging a snoring Guan Shan, his lean arms engulfing him totally, dried blood on the white sheets as a remainder of yesterday’s crazy night.

_You’ve written your name on my heart, little one._


End file.
